Sometimes, Kirke missed the simpler days, listening to the Muses lecture, watching Amazons train, and drinking Kimmerian wine beneath the stars.
“It’s dangerous,” she said, knowing the words needless but she had to say them anyway. “Yeah, an improper brew could have more insidious results than we’ve seen thus far. And we’ve already seen some shit that would have Cyclopes averting their eyes.”
Kalypso snorted. “We’re lucky Apollon’s Oracular Sight has not already revealed us to him. Sooner or later, the Olympians will discover us, Kirke. If we are not far enough along to have a workable defense when that happens, we’re like to find ourselves joining Grandfather in Tartarus.”
Another tired argument, and Kirke didn’t disagree. She didn’t know for certain why the Olympian hadn’t been able to find them thus far. Perhaps even her limited gift with the Sight concealed her. Either way, she had to imagine their obscurity would not last forever.
“Maybe …” Kirke winced at the pain of what she needed to say. These languid days had been a joyous relief from the long centuries of loneliness. “Maybe we need to keep our operation moving, make it harder for them to catch on.”
“I can’t.”
“I know, my friend. I know you have to stay here.” Which was why it had always been Kirke to move their product, mostly through pirates or smugglers, into the poleis. She would travel away for a few months, make several stops to avoid arousing any suspicion, and eventually find her way back here. It had worked thus far … “There are other places I could grow moly. If we work from multiple fronts, it becomes harder still to track us.”
The other woman slumped back against the wall. “You don’t know what it’s like to be trapped on a small island, all but forbidden from leaving, and having no one to talk to.”
Well, the first part was true enough, but Kirke had certainly had her share of isolation over the years.
“Oh!” Kalypso said. “Wait, you’re not thinking of going back to Themiskyra without me?”
“I don’t know,” Kirke admitted, hating to see the pain limning Kalypso’s face. “Yeah, I’m not sure what I’ll do.”
“Then stay here! Nyx, Kirke!”
Slowly, Kirke nodded. What else was she to do? She would linger on Ogygia and desperately hope they could perfect their draughts before the Olympians found them.
7
Pyrrha
213 Golden Age
Two years since Sharvara had died—murdered by Hera—and here Pyrrha was, killing a dog herself. She cast the body into the sea in silent offering to whatever power lurked nearby, just beyond the Veil.
Sharvara’s murder had helped her first fully pierce the Veil, and now, once more, the death allowed the world to shift for her. Color and warmth bled out, replaced by a land of shifting shadows and chill nether winds. The very edge of the Underworld. The Penumbra.
And it was so much closer than anyone ever wanted to believe. It was always right there, invisible, just a breath away.
Blinking, she rose, stalking through the night. In the distance, closer to the harbor, she beheld a crunch of warriors. Phalanxes of spearmen lurched into existence, raising up their great round shields, clashing with one another before dissipating on the wind. Phantoms that might help her piece together what had happened here, but otherwise availed her naught, for they were not really here. Just echoes of emotion.
No, she needed to find true shades, and once found, discover a means to communicate with them.
Oh, even if she did not sacrifice animals, apparitions haunted her. They whispered to her whenever the sun set, intruding upon her walks and denying her solace. Even had she wanted to take Papa’s advice and deny the Sight, she could not stop the parade of ghosts always in her periphery. They walked the harbor and the surrounding lands. They stalked the markets, seeking … whatever it was the dead thought they needed.
Even, they plagued her dreams. She had woken with a start in the middle of last night, seized with absolute certainty something was in the room with her, looming over her shoulder. And the voice, a too throaty growl of something deep and momentous.
… I TURN WITH YOU …
For heartbeats more she had lain there, eyes clenched closed, afraid to even whimper while willing whatever it was to leave her. In dread then, she had turned and found naught save the suddenly oppressive gloom of her room.
The dark horrified, even as it forever beckoned to her.
Most of those she witnessed on this beach appeared wounded, ravaged by pains of both body and soul. Always, they wanted something. But without breaching the Veil with murder, she couldn’t maintain the Sight for more than a few breaths. Certainly not long enough to determine what any of these entities actually sought.
Now, though, looking out over the shades of wandering soldiers, she could guess. Twelve years ago, the Ambrosial War had come to Thebes. No one in the palace dared mention it, at least not where Tethys might overhear. But her tutors said the war had raged from some seven years, which meant the assault on Thebes had been early on. And Tethys had lost her husband, like so many wives that day.
Even as no few husbands and daughters had lost wives and mothers.
Perhaps these hapless shades may have sought some return to their loved ones. Pyrrha had been but a babe then, but Papa had later told her they had lost Mama that day, too, so maybe her soul was among these shades. Most of those Pyrrha saw were men, but not all.
No, when soldiers came to sack a city, men were far from the only victims. Once, she saw a woman wandering in an alley, her throat crushed. Later, when she’d caught a phantom echo of four men dragging a woman into that
